


He Who Lingers

by hiza-chan (callunavulgari)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:13:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/hiza-chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin waits. He just so happens to have a lot of unfulfilling sex while he does so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Lingers

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be pointless Draco/Merlin smut because I'm amused by the fact that during a lot of Harry Potter sex scenes, someone usually winds up whimpering Merlin. And ever since I got into the Merlin fandom, I can't read Harry Potter without giggling whenever someone says something like "Merlin's Beard" or "Merlin's Pants". But Merlin decided he wanted to be a bit whiny and have a rather softcore sex scene, so he got to be a bit whiny.

Over the centuries, Merlin has been with dozens of people. He's been with skinny women, large women, middle sized women, birds with ample chests, flat chests, girls who shave and girls who don't. He's made love, traced the curves of their ribs with callused thumbs, stroked their hair as he moved above them, whispered sweet nothings into their ears. He's fucked. He's had dirty, hot, messy sex in an alley way, pale legs wrapped around his waist, a slick tongue wet against the nape of his neck, tapered nails scoring welts down his back.  
  
He's been married three times, and each time had felt like a lie. He's only been divorced once, because the last time he'd been married ( _1934, in a small cottage somewhere south of France_ ) divorce had been a better option than just getting up and _leaving_ when your wife finally notices the minor detail that _you don't age._  
  
He's been with blokes, young and old, blond and brunette, pale-skinned, dark-skinned, shades somewhere in the middle. He's been with stereotypical gay men, ones that giggle into his neck and smell like appletinis and sand. There have been jocks who keep their pride close and fuck him against walls in locked closets where no one can find them. He's been with librarians and chemists, Kings and peasants.  
  
There has never been anyone quite like Arthur. He can spread himself for whoever he wants, drown himself in legs and tits and cocks and he will never meet someone that makes him _feel_ quite like Arthur had. He thinks maybe the Dragon had known, that maybe this is what it had spoken of when it had talked of coins and destiny, that the beast had known that one day, Merlin would be as alone as it was. That he'd never find another quite like Arthur in centuries of cruel immortality.  
  
But sometimes, sometimes he came close.  
  
In the early 15th century, he met a young peasant girl that went by the name of Joan. She reminded him of Arthur in ways that made him _ache_ and in the end, he'd scrambled to leave France, his eyes clenched and his heart in his throat because he _couldn't watch her die_.  
  
All it takes is a glimpse of blond hair and blue eyes, a whisper of laughter the appropriate tone, a smile and a cocky grin and his heart feels like it's breaking all over again.  
  
The boy he's with now isn't quite like Arthur. He has hair too pale, eyes closer to gray than they are blue, skin just a few shades too white. He's aristocratic, very regal and King-like. But he is cold where Arthur was warmth. ( _sunny days and red apples and a smile that went on and on-_ ) His laugh is not rich enough, too high and bitter to sound like Arthur's. He doesn't smile but he does have Arthur's smirk, familiarity stretched across pink lips.  
  
He shakes and shudders against Merlin, little gasps and whimpers clinging to the back of his throat like cobwebs- pale hair caught at the corner of his gaping mouth. He moans and grinds back onto Merlin's cock and whimpers _Merlin, Merlin, Merlin-_ when he comes. And for a moment, he thinks he's found him again. He's panicking even as he's tipping over the edge, fucking into the boy one last time with Arthur's name on the tip of his tongue-  
  
But no, he's forgotten what wizard's in this day and age use his name for. Forgotten that they whisper _Merlin_ instead of God or Fuck or Please, faster. He's forgotten that he is a myth to them, a legend of how magic truly came about. To them, he is the sorcerer who started it all. They don't know the truth of the old Religion, or about Nimueh or Morgana, Morgause and Mordred. They know legends and myth, but not the things that had come before them.  
  
He is ashes on the wind, a walking dead man of legend and not for the first time, he wishes that he'd died with Arthur. That Uther's attempts to have him executed had born fruit, that the fire had burnt and blistered rather than simply tickled, that the hangman's rope had been more than just a hassle. That the witch trials throughout the centuries had been more than just a reason to move on to the next city. He wishes he'd succumbed to old age and shriveled along with the rest of his friends and loved ones. He wishes he hadn't had to watch as the earth changed, as Camelot's walls became ruin and the trees and lakes and grass he'd known had died, or been cut down, or filled in.  
  
And fuck, but he _misses_ Arthur. He misses Camelot. He misses Gwen and Morgana and Lancelot. He lies next to this pale boy, so young and innocent even with the dark smear of snake and skull marring the pale skin of his arm. He wonders if maybe he should do something, that perhaps he should surface and do something about this _Dark Lord_ that everyone fears so much. He feels this Voldemort's magic, and though it is fierce, it is the smallest of candles next to his.  
  
But he is a myth, a living legend. He is a ghost among men and he does not belong in this world. There is a boy they say, who lived. A boy who is destined to defeat the Dark Lord, and really, who is he to meddle in Destiny's affairs?  
  
So he will be patient, and he will wait. He will continue to wait, even though he has been waiting for centuries. He is Merlin Emrys of Camelot and he is waiting, and one day, The Once and Future King will return to him.


End file.
